


Paradise Drive

by irisbleufic



Series: One Step Away 'Verse (& Related Excursions) [4]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: 1980s, Anniversary, Concerts, Established Relationship, Huey Lewis & The News, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Music, M/M, Music, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros, Science Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surprising Marty is a more difficult enterprise than you’d think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradise Drive

**Author's Note:**

> Usual suspects Milarca and Leaper182 encouraged more Doc-POV set in  **[OSA 'Verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/322148) ** (since  ** _[Design Flaws](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4405937) _** is the only piece in the continuum currently fitting that POV description); I also thought that since  **[last week's story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5079958) ** [that’sset on/includes October 21, 2015 in its action] hit a key date from canon, I might as well hit another set of key dates, only a year laterthan the events of canon themselves (1986). In short, this is a one-year anniversary ficlet of sorts. It would behoove you to watch  **[the official 1985 music video for _The Power of Love_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KCkgYhtz64U) ** if you have never done so; Doc (read: Christopher Lloyd, in-character, even more so than in any of these 2015 featurettes or commercials that have emerged for the 30th anniversary) actually appears in it at the beginning, and it's those precious thirty to sixty seconds he's onscreen that really led to the writing of this addition (some of the dialogue from that brief appearance has been worked into this; the scene itself has been modified, as you'll notice, to include the transposed circumstances and Marty's presence). November is going to mark a hard-line return to the [**CoT**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/728117/navigate) story I started outlining back in July or August; I have the feeling January could reach us before I finish it, so I've been trying my best to burn off these urgent _BTTF_ distractions. A note on the setting: the night-club actually existed, but it's now gone; a dry-cleaning establishment currently occupies the address. The video linked above was filmed at Uncle Charlie’s while it was in its heyday, and, according to firsthand performance-goer accounts I was able to dig up online, [**what a heyday it had**](http://willnotbetelevised.com/2012/04/12/damn-you-vin-scelsa/)!

**October 25 - 26, 1986**

In late September, Emmett had asked Marty, not as subtly as he'd have liked, how he'd want to spend the twenty-sixth of October, given his choice. Marty had seemed puzzled by the question, citing that if this was a first-anniversary related thing, they technically hadn't gotten together until November seventh. Emmett hadn't been able to argue with that, but he hadn't hesitated to point out that the events of October twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth 1985 were not only worth celebrating in their own right, but that they'd ultimately _led_ to the events of twelve days later.

"If you want my honest opinion, Doc," Marty had said, teasingly, "that week I spent in 1955 had something to do with it, too. You were giving me looks I'd only just _started_ to hope I'd get from you in 1985, you know?" He'd nudged Emmett's shoulder. "Hey, sorry. I shouldn't joke."

Emmett had squeezed his eyes shut, recalling the years of emotional complications and second-guessing _that_ had gotten him stuck him with. "I understand that your insistence upon the seventh has something to do with the date falling in _that_ particular stretch as well," he'd continued, opening his eyes before Marty could ask him what was wrong, "but, at that rate, you might as well insist that we celebrate November fifth through twelfth wholesale. I'm not opposed to the idea, but you'll be rolling out of your electives' midterms. Whereas the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth of October this year still conveniently occupy a weekend. Saturday and Sunday, in fact."

"Something tells me you've got a specific activity planned for the twenty-sixth, and I haven't actually got much say in it," Marty had said, grinning. "That's fine, Doc. As long as I can spend the twenty-fifth—" he'd taken a breath and leaned closer, never mind that they'd been alone in the Menlo Park apartment "—in bed doing anything to you I goddamn well _want_ , we're set."

"Done," Emmett had replied, shaking his hand. "But who says _you_ get to have all the fun?"

Which brought them to now, late evening of said Saturday, as promised: at home in Hill Valley for the weekend, with Marty by now too functionally overwhelmed to call that many of the remaining shots. Emmett waited until Marty's gasps had quieted to breathy, intermittent hiccups; he kissed Marty, patient and slow, until he'd melted back into a loose-limbed quiver against the sheets. Emmett spent a little more time than might've been advisable on kissing his way from Marty's pulse-point back down to his heartbeat, his abdomen, the smooth plane of his inner thigh. He bit tentatively at the latter spot, letting his cheek brush against Marty's flushed erection.

"Doc," Marty pleaded, scarcely coherent enough to manage the word. "Son of a _bitch_ —"

Emmett hummed in acknowledgment, turning his head just enough to take the tip carefully in his mouth. He sucked until he felt the tension in Marty's strained movements kick up a notch, and then pulled off to admire what a gorgeous disaster he had on his hands. "Do I tell you often enough, Marty," he said, letting his tongue dip again, careful, _calculating_ , "how much I love—"

The sounds Marty tended to make at a baseline were heart-stopping in the best possible fashion, but _this_? Frankly exceeded Emmett's expectations. Emmett nuzzled Marty's belly while Marty sobbed with the intensity of his climax, letting him thrash and twist without reservation. Precisely eighteen minutes of orgasm denial would've had a similar effect on _anyone_ , but there was an exquisitely unexpected quality to these results. The experiment would bear repeating.

"Has anyone ever mentioned," Marty panted, far sooner than Emmett would've expected him to regain articulacy, "that, _ah_ , this—" he waved his hand indistinctly at the mess he'd made of Emmett's cheek and temple, turning pink to the roots of his hair "—is a really good look on you?"

"Not until now," Emmett said, propping himself up on one arm, reaching for the washcloth he'd stashed on the nightstand with the other. "I can't think of anyone else I'd have given the honor."

" _Jesus_ ," Marty sighed, his eyes fluttering closed just as they'd done seconds before, as arresting a sight as ever. "You've gotta let me try that, okay? Promise you're gonna lie back and—"

"You had me burnt-out by noontime, regardless of the lunch break," said Emmett, wryly, finishing the job on his face before seeking stray traces elsewhere. Marty squirmed and sighed when Emmett scrubbed at his belly, his expression completely unguarded. "I'll lie back and let you do anything, but I doubt you'll get any performance so spectacular. Twice was exceptional enough."

"Yeah, and this was, like, my... _what_..." Marty shook his head faintly. "Third or fourth?"

"Your parameters with regard to today's pursuits were painfully specific," Emmett reminded him.

"You hijacked the pursuits, Doc," Marty protested. "Lucky I got two out of you is _right_."

Emmett felt an overwhelming surge of fondness at the gripe, which wasn't an unusual occurrence in and of itself. Where once he might also have experienced mild irritation and had the impulse to lecture Marty on a technicality, he instead decided that tossing the washcloth aside and folding Marty back in his embrace was the only proper response. Endearingly, Marty exhaled in surprise.

"I'm _so glad_ you didn't toss me out on my ass when I kissed you last year," he admitted.

"As I recall, you removed yourself from the premises and evaded my attempts to call you back," Emmett sighed, stroking Marty's damp hair while Marty shamelessly sucked the side of his neck. It gave him a wistful thrill to imagine this at any other time or place: if they'd been young together, if Marty had been stranded in 1955, if they'd ended up elsewhere-and-when entirely, _if_.

"I freaked the fuck out for a while and then ended up at the diner with Mayor Wilson, who gave really great advice just like he always has," Marty mumbled. "So I guess that needed to happen."

Emmett held Marty tighter, until he gave a slight squeak of protest. "We should get some rest."

"Yeah," Marty agreed, although he kept kissing Emmett. "Your mysterious plan for tomorrow."

"I thought you'd appreciate a surprise that didn't involve plutonium," Emmett hazarded, waiting.

Marty pinched Emmett in the side, causing him to jump. "You can't even give me a hint, Doc?"

"Much though that would defeat the purpose, I can tell you it's a few hours' drive," Emmett said.

Marty groaned, finally easing off so he could reach to turn off the lamp. "Where are we _going_?"

"Marin," said Emmett, firmly, as they were plunged into darkness. "That's all you're getting."

Marty yawned and squirmed his way back into Emmett's arms post- _click_ of the lamp, quiet for only a few seconds before drawing another lungful of breath. "That only narrows it down to a few hundred different concert venues," he muttered, groping around for the covers. "Nice one."

"What makes you think I'm taking you to a concert?" asked Emmett, attempting to quell his defensive tone. If there's anything he'd learned, it was to avoid giving Marty clues at all costs. He was entirely too skilled at making inferences based on minutiae. _Tactical error_ , he thought.

"What do I know," Marty yawned, squeezing Emmett tightly, his cheek pressed flush against Emmett's chest. "Maybe you found some fancy restaurant out there that doesn't serve eggplant."

"I love you," Emmett said softly, not entirely pleased he'd been interrupted some moments earlier, which elicited a content shiver from Marty. "Now, will you _please_ let me get some sleep?"

"You can say that in the middle of things more often," Marty whispered. "Works pretty well, huh?"

They slept late. This particular phenomenon hadn't been unheard-of in Emmett's world prior to Marty's arrival in it, but it had certainly been more of a rare occurrence. Marty liked to spend Sunday mornings lazy, slow, and naked. Getting his backside out of bed by noon was something of a challenge, but mentioning that they'd need to be clean, dressed, and on the road by about three or four in the afternoon got him moving. Emmett didn't feel guilty about lingering in the shower.

Lorraine called while they ate hastily thrown-together sandwiches in the kitchen, saying she'd drop by in a couple of hours with the spare key to check on Einstein. At the mention of his name, even as tinny and muffled as it was, Einie's ears perked hopefully. Once Emmett had hung up, Marty told the dog that he'd better be good for his grandma, because they wouldn't be back till late.

"Talking about dogs like they're kids," Emmett remarked, finishing his crust. "Is this a new thing?"

"No," Marty said, already taking his plate and glass over to the sink. "We talk _to_ them like they're kids, so it kinda follows." He ran the water and scrubbed at the sink's contents, glancing over at Emmett to indicate he should bring his stuff over if he was done. "Want me to drive?"

"No, you're strictly on navigation duty," Emmett insisted, doing as he'd been wordlessly bid. Marty's eyes did so much talking it was remarkable. "You may figure it out in the process."

"I hate to tell you this, Doc," Marty sighed, nodding in thanks as Emmett dropped his plate and glass into the suds, "but I haven't been to as many live shows above my own talent bracket as you might think. My parents are pretty picky about me and my siblings' extracurriculars, it turns out."

Emmett shifted to stand behind Marty, studying the afternoon light-fall against the curve of his neck. They'd dug out what Marty called _that bitchin' retro shit_ on a regular basis; Marty still tended to favor the shirt he'd been wearing the day they'd gone to Hill Valley High School so that he could point out his parents to Emmett. The shirt had aged gracefully, stored with care. Emmett bent to kiss the trace of shadow just beneath Marty's collar. Marty sighed, dropping the sponge.

"It's not fair you've got so much height on me. I can't bug you quite the same way while you work."

"Forget the dishes and dry your hands," Emmett said. "Let's hit the road before I change my mind."

"I wouldn't even know what I was missing," Marty replied, leaning back into him. "Honest, Doc."

"Something tells me you might if you heard about it after the fact," Emmett insisted. "Come on."

As distractable as he might be in other contexts, Marty had always been an excellent navigator. They hit about as much traffic as Emmett had expected, which resulted in the usual antics on Marty's part: cursing and turning the map every which way in an attempt to devise an alternative route, usually to no avail. They found a burger joint at the next exit and stopped off for dinner. Teasingly, Marty went on and on about Emmett really knowing how to show a guy a good time.

"Pay attention, Future Boy," Emmett said, gathering their trash into one of the paper bags the food had come in, tossing it into the space behind his seat along with his hat. There were times he wished he still had the convertible he'd had in 1955 (he'd give anything for the back-seat space, oh would he _ever_ ), and this was one of them. "We need Route 101, and then Paradise Drive."

"Well, we're gonna hit 101 in like ten minutes or so, but—" Marty made a face, squinting into the rear-view mirror. "Paradise Drive, Paradise _Drive_. That rings a bell for some reason, Doc."

"I wouldn't think about it too hard if I were you," Emmett said mildly, concentrating on the green signs up ahead. _Because then you'll remember having read it in some music magazine._

"5625 Paradise Drive!" Marty blurted, slapping his hand over his mouth. "Heavy _duty_ , Doc." He actually bounced slightly in his seat. "Listen, there's this place on Paradise where—"

"You guessed it," Emmett sighed, flipping the turn signal as the exit loomed. "We're going there."

"Oh _man_ ," Marty said, grinning ear to ear. "I mean, you probably don't know who's playing tonight; they've got all these live slots throughout the week, but, listen, you did your homework, it's usually _great_ stuff no matter when you go, _seriously_. Tiff told me this one time—"

Emmett let him natter on, hiding a smile. Perhaps the entirety of the surprise wasn't ruined after all. Marty was too preoccupied with listing off who Tiff had managed to see play this particular venue in the past year (Tannen kids had always been exceptionally talented at defying their parents' wishes, it would seem), so Emmett kept an eye out for the turn-off. Marty quieted as he took it, sobering.

"I think we're dressed a little too old-school for this place, Doc," he said shakily. "Where the hell'd you get that shirt? Is that the alphabet all over it in those diamonds, _seriously_?"

"I've had it since graduate school," Emmett said firmly. "Pay attention to the street numbers?"

"Got it," Marty said, picking nervously at his collar. "Street numbers. Fifty-one-hundred..."

Marty didn't say a damn thing until they reached Uncle Charlie's, which was—Great Scott, _well_. The place was mobbed. Briefly, Emmett hoped that perhaps they'd gotten the wrong establishment. He pulled carefully alongside the curb, frowning as he peered through the windshield into descending dusk. Marty stared blankly out his window at the crowd as Emmett put on the breaks, zeroing in on the bouncers checking ID at the door. _Shit_ , Emmett thought.

"Hey, don't worry," Marty said, more to himself than anyone else. "Some of these places admit eighteen and over. I'm well on the way to nineteen, it's not like..." He collapsed back into his seat as Emmett popped both doors to let in some air. "I've got a fake ID," he added under his breath.

"I know. You've told me on any number of occasions," Emmett said. He leaned across Marty and peered at the onlookers, several of whom had crowded up next to the DeLorean, presumably for the curiosity factor. He'd stripped out the flux capacitor and time circuits, sure, and Marty had let the Tannens do a major overhaul, which they'd done _well_ , but some of the curious displays were still intact, because Emmett refused to part with them. Why give up what you could keep for show?

"Look at this car!" exclaimed a young woman with unfortunate hair. "Hey, is this a— _a_ —"

"It's a DeLorean," Emmett said perfunctorily, jabbing some buttons to keep them from lighting up.

Marty gave Emmett an amused look, turning his head to nod, as if in apology, at the young woman.

Emmett checked the fuel gauge. He heard someone else interject, "Where's that from, outer space?"

"Maybe you were right about this set of wheels, Doc," Marty said brightly. "These groupies dig it."

Abruptly, the young woman leaned across Marty and actually _reached inside_ the car, her fingers coming dangerously close to the date-and-time display. "Hey, wow! Look at the stereo!"

Emmett gestured her away, as much to protect Marty as to preserve what was left of his now-defunct achievement. "No no no _no_ ," he warned. "Don't touch that! It's not a stereo, it's—"

The young woman's friend, whose hair was somehow even bigger, pouted. "What _is_ it?"

"Are you gonna ask these people if we've got the right place or what?" Marty prompted impatiently.

"It's what it is!" Emmett sputtered, flipping some contrary switches that had begun to blink anyway. He'd better attempt to salvage this situation, but his mind was blank. "What's going on in there?"

"Music!" said the young woman, her friend, and several other hangers-on, more or less all at once.

"Jesus Christ," Marty muttered, reaching to set a hand on Emmett's arm. "D'you want me to—"

"What kind of music?" Emmett forged on, focusing on the ladies' garish faces. They couldn't have been _that_ much older than Marty, which gave him hope for what they'd face on the door.

"Dancing!" said one of them; meanwhile, the big-haired friend contributed, loudly, "Rock and roll!"

"That's great," Marty said, his hand already on the door handle, "but I think he means more like—"

"Huey!" prompted the young woman, hopefully, smiling at Marty before glancing over to Emmett.

"Huey?" Emmett echoed, returning her smile while Marty's eyes went impossibly wide. " _Hah_ , then this is the place! We'd better find a place to park."

"Drive, Doc," Marty said, tugging the door down with a _thud_ , causing their audience to jump. "Find a damn parking space or I'll crawl over there, take the wheel, and find one for you."

The parking situation wasn't too dire. They found an end spot about as far from the club entrance as it was possible to get. The empty state of the cars in their immediate vicinity constituted grounds for Marty to unfasten his belt, lunge across the center console, and kiss Emmett soundly.

"I'm gonna make you dance," said Marty, grinning so hard his face probably hurt. "Just you watch."

"Please don't," replied Emmett, grimly, killing the ignition. "Let's see about getting in, all right?"

"They won't try to keep us out," Marty reassured him, opening his door. "Hell, _Tiff_ got in here."

"You make a remarkably salient point," Emmett conceded, dread lightening as he got out of the car.

Marty tugged Emmett by the hand the whole way back to where they'd first pulled up. All but two of the young women had dispersed; they made an attempt to attach themselves to Emmett's free arm, but, before he could protest, Marty had already charmingly demurred on Emmett's behalf and tugged him as far as the doors. One of the two bouncers, unoccupied, looked them up and down and nodded them in.

Emmett took _Marty's_ hand this time, leading him inside, relieved.

"As I'd feared," he sighed, wrinkling his nose at the haze of smoke. "No seating."

"There rarely is, Doc!" Marty said loudly enough to be heard over the sudden din of tuning onstage.

"Given we've got to drive back after the show," Emmett pointed out, "we shouldn't drink anything!"

"Hadn't planned on it," Marty said, softer as the din died down and the front-man tapped the microphone. His eyes lingered on Mr. Lewis for a few loving seconds before turning to Emmett. "Let's stick back here, huh?" he suggested, tugging at Emmett's lapels, up on tiptoe. "Safer."

"Marty, we shouldn't risk..." But nobody was looking except the bouncer who'd let them in. Marty, his back hitting the shadowed wall, had already pulled Emmett into a kiss as Huey went on about how they'd promised to come back— _And, hey, new album's out, but we had this hit single_ —

"God," Marty said, easing off as the opening strains reverberated. "I played this for the audition last year."

Emmett leaned back in, pressing a reassuring follow-up peck to the corner of Marty's mouth. "Wise choice."

Marty flashed him a brilliant smile, winking. He stepped out of the shadows, turned to face the stage, and tugged Emmett's arms around him. "There's not much to this, okay? Move with it."

 _A curious thing_ , Emmett thought, listening along. "I'll try," he replied, letting Marty lead.


End file.
